Felicis
by taylorpotato
Summary: Draco is slipping. His image is crumbling. He's becoming reckless and desperate to fulfill his duty to the Dark Lord. Harry unwittingly stumbles upon Draco's secrets, and turns both of their worlds upside down with a night on liquid luck. Warnings: violence, swearing, suicidal tendencies, and man sex.
1. Chapter 1

These characters do not belong to me. But I promise they're not doing anything they didn't want already ;)

* * *

It's almost as if there's an invisible stopwatch, slowly ticking, measuring every heartbeat, counting down the days until I'll be another corpse—one of those unfortunate casualties of war. Nobody ever says anything about it. I just get occasional pity glances.

_Poor dear. Father in prison, the Mark on your arm. Dead meat's the correct phrase, init?_

Still, I look into the mirror every morning. I see that same, apathetic expression I've always had. I comb my hair, and I brush my teeth, and I feel like my brain is slowly imploding, ripping away from the sides of my skull, cannibalizing itself in some vague sort of survival reflex.

I don't talk anymore, because nobody would understand. What kind of sixteen-year-old gets shouldered with this kind of responsibility? Go on, Draco, be a good lad and off the second most powerful wizard alive. Just kill Albus Dumbledore. That's all.

I walk through the hallways, with impeccable posture, and I sneer, and I threaten curses, and I slowly go numb. I'm not even a person anymore. I'm just an empty shell with a fast approaching expiration date.

"Is everything all right, Draco?" Pansy's sitting across the table from me.

I'm slowly pushing the food around my plate, not actually eating it. Just cutting the potatoes and sausage into smaller and smaller pieces, mashing them together so it looks like they're disappearing.

"I'm fine." The words are flat.

"You just… you look a little pale, that's all."

"And you look a little whorish. I don't comment on that, do I?"

Her cheeks flush slightly, even though the insult was only halfhearted. She's gotten into loosening her tie, and leaving her robes open, with low-cut sweaters. Not to mention the ungodly amounts of makeup. Someone should really teach her how to cast those Glamours more subtly. It won't be me.

"Excuse me for worrying about my own boyfriend," she huffs.

I stare through her. I want to say something, but the words just won't come. It's too late to take it all back. Two years is a long time to suffer through a loveless pseudo-relationship. I can't exactly cut and run now. Then I'd have no excuse, no lie to tell myself to continue the denial. It's always been her. She's the only thing holding my image together.

Better to struggle in silence than to spread your problems onto anybody else. It's practically the Malfoy Motto. Stuff it down, pretend it's not there, put on a good face, and suffer through it.

My eyes close, just for a moment. It's disturbing how often I fantasize about jumping off the astronomy tower. But I just imagine a nice tranquil evening, not too warm, not too cold, no breeze. The view from up there, the inky black lake, the dark, jagged treetops of the forest, and the peacefulness of it all. If I could just step off that stone ledge… sweet release. No more family, or responsibilities, or war to worry about. I could just disappear into the void.

The people around me are starting to stand. I hear the rustling book bags and footsteps echoing around the Great Hall. Soon everybody will be drifting back to the common rooms, studying, hitting the firewhisky, and going to bed. I gather myself, sparing a small, forced smile for Pansy.

"I'll see you later. I'm going to the library for a while."

Then I wander off, letting my feet guide me on the familiar path towards the dungeons. Take a left, and a right, and another left, I walk for maybe twenty minutes before winding up in an obscure little empty classroom.

Blaise is already waiting for me. Leaning against a teacher's desk. He's charmed a few candles to float around the room. The soft light reflects faintly off his velvety, dark skin. I don't have time for pretty words or romance. I cast a Locking Charm on the door, and then I advance. I tangle my fingers into his hair and pull his mouth towards mine in a savage kiss.

I unbuckle his belt. _This is not love_. I pull down his trousers. _This is fucking_. I push him back onto the desk, and climb on top of him. _This is what animals do_. My clothes are on the ground with a quick flick of his wand._ So use me_. I slide down onto his dick—the pain is the only real thing I've felt in days. _Please abuse me_. And I move.

Slowly at first, I start to ride his big, black dick. I fuck myself on it, searching for that sweet spot. I hit it by accident, and shudder slightly.

If only Daddy could see me now.

Naked, shaking, getting quite literally fucked in the ass. But it's not long before I can't even think anymore. I'm just slamming myself down on Blaise, blissful in the twisted, visceral pleasure.

"You're beautiful," he whispers, tightening his grip on my hips.

I slap him across the face. "No talking."

In the corner of the room, there's a faint sound, like a desk creaking. I freeze instantly, and turn towards the source of the noise. I don't see anything.

Blaise is still trying to fuck me. He's holding me steady while he starts to thrust up into me. It's hard to focus.

"Did you hear that?" I grunt.

"What?"

"I dunno…"

And then I'm making nonsensical little noises, involuntary moans. It's like he's trying to split me in half, and all I can do it hold onto the edges of the desk. In the last few seconds, he grabs onto my dick and pumps furiously. I cry out, and them it's a tiny volcano exploding all over his stomach. All my pent up teen-angst. Shiny, cream colored cum on his ebony skin.

I slowly lift myself off him. His dick makes its final exit with a wet popping noise. I stand on unsteady feet, and quickly pull my clothes back on. A few simple cleaning spells, and I know I look exactly how I did when I walked in.

"I won't be able to do this again till Thursday." I look down at Blaise with cold eyes. He's still sprawled out on the desk, breathing heavily. Half the girls in our year are after him. It's an odd sort of satisfaction, knowing I got something they'll never be able to have.

"OK. Just let me know." He smiles at me.

And I walk out briskly. The paranoia is already creeping in over the post-orgasmic fuzziness. There's no escape. I feel the sickness boiling in my stomach. I hurry along the corridor, not running, but taking brisk strides. I barley mutter the password and clamber through the portrait hole. Luckily nobody stops me in the common room.

I make it to the toilet before I start puking. _Self-hatred_. My intestines are trying to force their way up my throat._ Such a filthy slut_. I almost collapse, faint right there, hugging the cold porcelain. But after a few minutes, I manage to pull it together enough to stumble into my room and fall into bed.

I reach for a vial full of sleeping potion and down it. My consciousness fades into the big, sweet, empty—sleep without dreams.

* * *

I wake up feeling like a lead suit. Going through the motions, I walk to breakfast with Crabbe. He's caveman grunting about something, but I don't listen. I just look straight ahead.

I drink coffee, and eat a piece of toast. My stomach twists a little, but the food it stays down. There's noise all around me: laughing, and talking, and open-mouthed chewing.

Loneliness is other people.

If I were the last one left on earth, I wouldn't mind it. I'd hardly notice. But constantly being surrounded by vibrant life is torture.

Blaise is sitting halfway down the table, talking to Pansy like she's the most interesting girl in the world. He thinks it's funny to flirt with her. It's really a good thing I made him take a magically enforced oath not to tell anybody. If he does, he'll immediately burst into flames. _Liar lair_. Still, sometimes I worry it might not be enough of a deterrent.

I glance down at my watch disinterestedly. Twenty minutes till double Potions. I used to enjoy those classes. Anymore, I can barely focus. Slughorn is an idiot. Listening to him talk for more than about five minutes makes my brain go numb.

I wait until Crabbe is finished eating, and we walk out together. I'm on autopilot. Down to the same classroom I've been in for six years. Same table I've always sat at. I'm just staring into space waiting for the clock to run down.

Nobody needs to tell me when the three fucking musketeers enter, a few minutes late as usual. They make such a racket. It's a wonder they've ever been able to sneak anywhere. I can hear weasel breathing from practically a mile away, and he smells of unwashed socks so strongly I want to faint.

The skin on the back of my neck is suddenly stiff, gooseflesh. Somebody's staring at me.

Slughorn writes on the board, I go gather the ingredients. Salamander, hemlock, wormwood, and skullcap—the draught of blistering boils. I finish chopping up my salamander tail before I "stretch" and give the room a once over.

Potter is staring at me like I've got a second head growing out of my shoulder. The second he realizes I see him watching, he ducks his head down and pretends like he was working or something. That's a new one.

Of course, I'm done about thirty minutes before everybody else is. I drum my fingers on the table, and stir the potion occasionally. I try not to think about how the gooseflesh feeling is already back.

Potter. Potter the fucking golden boy. The pride of Hogwarts—even though he breaks every rule and barely passes his classes. Everybody loves him. He's so goddamn special, and wonderful, and talented, it makes me want to hex somebody. Preferably him, actually.

What does it mean to have dreams about throttling him, and then wake up with an erection? Do I hate him so much that I'm aroused by thoughts of hurting him? I've stopped trying to figure it out.

It doesn't matter, because I'm never actually going to kill him. I should have done it first year, when I had the chance. I should have Stunned him when we were in the forbidden forest and left him for the beasts. When I really want to wallow in my own misery, I just think about all the chances I've had to do away with him. Somehow I always seem to fuck it up.

Slughorn is talking. Bottle your potions, clean your cauldrons, blah, blah, blah. I hand in my vial, vanish the leftover potion, and I just want to leave.

I'm walking through the row of desks on my way out the door, when there's a loud commotion right next to me. It's like slow-motion replay happening in real time. Longbottom trips over his own feet and knocks into his cauldron. It spills and splashes onto me. I double over, falling onto my hands and knees, barely containing the scream. Blisters the size of walnuts are rapidly popping up all over my skin. It's chaos. The potion splashed on a few other people.

Everyone is yelling, and crying. I can't focus. There are white hot flashes, every blisters is pulsing in unison.

"Quickly, get them to the hospital wing!" Slughorn's voice is distant.

I pass out.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey is pouring potions into my mouth. I taste dead fish, and rotted mushrooms, but I swallow. The pain is considerably less than it was. I can see the blisters on my hands beginning to fade.

I carefully look around me. Crabbe is still passed out in the bed next to me. Across from us is Longbottom, and Potter. They're both awake. I stare daggers at them until Pomfrey leaves the room.

"Congratulations, Longbottom, I didn't think you could possibly become a more useless waste of human flesh, but I was obviously wrong. Not only are you a fat, blathering idiot, now we can add 'unable to walk three feet without stumbling' to the ever-growing list of your prize attributes."

Longbottom squeaks, and looks to Potter for help.

"Lay off, it was an accident," Potter grunts.

"Oh, an accident? I'm sorry. I thought it was the boy's purposeful goal to appear as idiotic as possible. That's my mistake. Let's add pathetic to the list too, shall we? Half-witted, clumsy, pathetic, sniveling, git. The whole package." I cross my arms, waiting for retaliation.

But for some odd reason, it doesn't come. Potter just shakes his head and looks away mumbling something along the lines of "Don't worry about it, Neville. He's not worth it."

I want wrath. I want fire and brimstone. I want to see that green flash of anger deep within Potter's eyes that only comes from me insulting his little crew of urchins. Maybe I'm losing my touch. Maybe they know the old venom just isn't there anymore. I'm too tired to really be that upset. I'm just putting on a show for old time's sake. Then there's that small part of me that wishes nobody had tried to help me. Maybe if they'd just left me on the dungeon floor, I would have died from internal bleeding, and exploded blisters inside my lungs.

I pretend to fall asleep again, just so I'm spared having to look across the room. Potter and Longbottom begin to talk in hushed voices. Soon I hear Potter cast a Silencing Charm. I slowly mutter the counter curse. The idiots don't even notice.

"Are you sure?" Longbottom sounds distressed.

"Well yeah. I saw it."

"When?"

"Um… you know I've been keeping tabs on Malfoy."

Joy of joys. They're talking about me.

"Ron mentioned it, kind of." Longbottom's voice is so damn annoying.

"He's up to something. I know it. And well, I followed him with my invisibility cloak on last night… and I, um… I saw him show it to Blaise Zabini."

My blood runs cold.

"Really? So he's Marked?"

"Yeah. I don't know when it happened. But he's officially a Death Eater."

"Christ."

I knew I heard something. Potter saw the Mark, means Potter saw me naked. Potter saw me naked and fucking Blaise Zabini. My heart is pounding on overdrive. Everywhere is cold sweat. I feel dizzy.

Why the fuck was he following me? Why did he stay and watch? I mean, he did stalk me on the train this year, eavesdropping with his stupid cloak. But this… I'm ruined if he tells anyone. I'm disowned.

OK. He didn't tell Longbottom. Maybe it won't be long, but I do have time. What kind of threat do you use on Harry Potter to keep him quiet? Do I torture him? Bribery? Doesn't seem like either would be very effective. He's Mr. Fucking Morality.

Wait, _why_ didn't he tell Longbottom?

To tell anyone, he'd have to admit that he watched. He'd have to say, I saw. Hmm. Now the lie makes perfect sense. Because why on earth would Harry Potter stay to watch Draco Malfoy get fucked up the ass?

Actually that's a good question.

My head hurts.

Pomfrey walks in again and starts pouring more potions. I sputter as I "wake up" and put on a show of stretching out from my short sleep. This time Crabbe wakes up too.

"You're all free to go." This is the verbal push out the door.

* * *

I wait as Crabbe dresses, and I watch the other two leave. Part of me wants to run after them. But then there would be questions as to why. No, I need Potter alone. If he's really been following me around, it shouldn't be too hard to achieve.

I spend all night walking around the castle. For a while, I go into the Room of Hidden Things and tinker around with the vanishing cupboard. The apple I put in there the other day hasn't come back yet. They didn't see it on the other end either.

Two large things on my mind. How to corner Potter, and how the fuck do I fix this cupboard? At least dear old Dad is locked up. If I fail at the first thing, he probably won't be able to kill me from in there.

Everyone knows the point of being pureblood is to create more pureblood brats. Gays don't do that, and are therefore pretty much on the same level as Muggles in his book.

I cast a few half-hearted charms into the old cupboard and put a random book in it. When I open and close the door, the book is gone at least. Probably to that same limbo as all those rotting apples.

* * *

This is a story I wrote it a while ago. I've got six chapters done. I'll post the rest if anybody seems interested.


	2. Chapter 2

These characters do not belong to me. But I promise they're not doing anything they didn't want already ;)

* * *

Potter is a slippery bastard. I haven't seen him once besides mealtimes, and it's been four days. I've had thoughts about doing something drastic, like kidnapping one of the Musketeers. But it seems like it'd be more trouble than it's worth.

So I sit in the Great Hall, drinking pumpkin juice and contemplating the nature of my own existence, waiting for him to come in.

It's 9:30. He strolls through the door with messy hair and sleepy eyes. I watch him eat alone. Not too unusual, even for the _Chosen One_. The Gryffindor table is usually pretty empty on Saturday mornings.

He takes his time eating. I probably look increasingly odd, just sitting there, drinking juice and reading the _Prophet_. But really, who's around to notice? I don't give a fuck about what any of these people think.

Eventually, he stands up and wanders out. I wait a few moments, and then follow with a considerable distance between us. He meanders up the staircase. I quicken my pace slightly. We get up to the third floor before I yell at him.

"Potter!"

He jumps, and wheels around.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" He draws himself up, narrowing his eyes at me.

"We've got some important matters to discuss." I casually draw my wand out.

"_Expelliarmus!_" we both shout at the same time.

Our wands go flying into the air. I dive for my wand, he dives for me. He fucking tackles me. We're rolling around on the floor. Then he's got my arms pinned above my head.

I kick him off, and go for my wand again.

"_Incarcerous_." Ropes fly from the tip of my wand and bind themselves around his wrists and ankles. I grab his wand and pocket it.

"Merlin, Potter," I'm breathing heavily, "are you incapable of having a civilized conversation with someone?"

"Let me go!" He's struggling against the ropes uselessly.

I think my response over for a moment. There's no way to phrase it eloquently. And who knows how much time I have before someone walks by?

I bend down and hold my wand to his throat.

"You've been fucking stalking me."

He goes still. I can almost see the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out what I know.

"What are you talking about?" He sets his jaw defiantly.

"I heard you and Longbottom in the hospital wing," I spit. "Maybe one of these days you should learn how to cast a proper Silencing Charm."

He doesn't say anything. Just looks up at me.

"Now, I don't really care if you go spreading it around to all your little friends that I'm a Death Eater. Hell, get an angry mob together. I could give a fuck. But if you _ever_ tell anybody about what I did with Zabini, I will personally hunt down every person you've ever cared for and torture them to insanity. Do I make myself clear?"

I don't quite understand the look in his eyes. But I don't really have time to think about it. I can hear footsteps coming up the hallway. I wave the ropes away, and stand up quickly.

"One word, Potter. Just one, and all your friends are dead."

I throw his wand back at him and storm off. I take maybe ten steps before I almost run into Snape.

"Going somewhere, Draco?" He half-raises an eyebrow.

Fuck. What did I forget to do now? Duck and cover.

"Professor," I smile smarmily," I was just on my way to see you."

Snape looks down the hallway. I don't even need to turn around. I just know Potter's sprawled out on the ground, looking stupid.

"Enjoying the comforts of the castle floor, are we, Mr. Potter?"

"Erm, yeah, I was… just leaving."

He practically slinks by. Eyes to the ground, looking like a guilty puppy. I don't understand the world anymore.

Snape watches him until he rounds the corner. Then he turns those cold eyes back on me. He doesn't even have to say it. I already know. He throws up a quick Silencing Charm.

_Why are you wasting our time?_

"A cursed amulet, Draco?" Though he's speaking quietly, it feels like he's slapping me across the face. "Surely you don't believe Albus Dumbledore is _that_ gullible?"

"Well, what would you have me do? Waltz into his office and toss out the Killing Curse? I'm doing the best that I can."

"Clearly, your best is far from good enough… What about the cabinets?"

"It's a slow process."

"Time is running short. Lest you forget, both of our lives are on the line."

So many things I want to say. _Stuff it down, stuff it down, stuff it down. _

"I'll go work on the cabinets tonight." I barely manage to form the words. It's fine. Who needs sleep anyway?

Snape waves away his charm, and walks off.

Alone again.

* * *

Time is quickly slipping away and Pansy won't fucking leave. She's just sitting there on the edge of my bed, giggling hysterically.

"Fancy a tumble, love?" She's already taking her shirt off. Good lord, no bra.

"Pansy, you're drunk."

I'm just pacing back and forth, trying not to look at her. I can't deal with this right now. There aren't words.

"Draco, why won't you look at me?"

I can already hear the drunken tears coming on. I sigh, and meet her eyes. The poor dear. She looks nearly hysterical. Red cheeks, messy hair, shining eyes…

"You don't love me anymore! You think I'm ugly!" And she's collapsed, sobbing, rolling around on my sheets. Great. Perfect. This couldn't possibly get any better.

"No, no, it's not that… I just have things I need to do tonight." I sink down and pat her on the back gingerly.

"Who are you fucking?" She's crying so hard I can hardly hear her.

"What?"

"You're fucking somebody else. I know you are."

"Pansy, that's ridiculous. Who would I be fucking?"

"It's that slut Millicent isn't it?"

"Don't be stupid. She looks like a bulldog."

"You never touch me anymore."

There's only one way out. Gently, I roll her over onto her back and climb on top. Her breath catches. I slowly press my lips against hers.

"I'm not sleeping with any other girls. I promise," I whisper. It's not exactly a lie. "I have to go. But you can stay here if you like. I'll be back in a few hours."

She nods tearfully. I cover her with a blanket before exiting the room. I suppose being a Prefect has its advantages. At least there's nobody around to see what a mess my life is turning into.

It's not too late yet, but the halls are empty and quiet. It's a long walk up to the seventh floor. I pace in front of the invisible doorway. And I just think over and over again, _I need to find the Room of Hidden Things_.

A door appears. It's different every time. Today it's a rounded oak piece with a brass handle. I twist the knob and step inside.

The usual mountains of mess are there. A man could spend his entire life rifling through this junk and never see half of it. It's almost like a maze. I weave through to the center. The cabinet is still there. I open it. No apples.

There's a noise behind me. I turn around, wand in hand. There's a pack of doxies flitting around in here somewhere, always causing trouble.

But what stumbles around the corner, is a different sort of trouble entirely.

"Hi."

Harry Potter is standing there, with dilated pupils, and a stupid grin slapped across his face.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" I can barely get the words out.

"I don't know, really," he shrugs, "I just felt like this was the place I should be."

He's walking around, picking up random objects off of the tables and studying them intently. His movements are awkward and unsteady. He takes a shiny gold crown off one of the piles and places it on his head.

"There, now I'm king."

"Are you high?" I lower my wand slightly. Nobody ever told me how to handle this sort of situation.

"Maybe a bit. I just had a wonderful talk with Professor Slughorn. Down at Hagrid's." He sets the crown back on the table it came from.

"What?"

"Drank a little of that liquid luck stuff. It's marvelous. I got in and out of things without any trouble at all."

I must have fallen asleep back on my bed with Pansy. There's no way that Harry fucking Potter is standing in the Room of Hidden Things, rambling at me, while he's tripping out on Felix Felicis.

"What about you? Why are you in here?" He walks over to me and takes a long look at the cabinet.

"That's really none of your business, Potter," I snarl as a reflex more than anything.

"I'm sure it isn't, but it's a good question all the same. Don't you think?"

Without warning, he pulls the door open, and reaches inside. I don't even have time to react. He's standing right beside me, holding an apple.

"What a funny thing to find in an old dresser," he giggles.

Wait… it worked?

"Give me that," I snap and grab the fruit. It's real.

"Were you looking for that? Is that what you're doing here?" He's just looking at me with those big green eyes, soft, and happy, and… why is this happening? He's talking to me like we're not sworn enemies. Maybe he's so out of it he doesn't even know who I am.

I should hex him. I should kill him right now. Maybe the spell will bounce back and hit me, since he's on liquid luck. Either way my problems would be solved.

Maybe I get lost in his eyes, just for a second.

Then he's taken those crucial steps forward, and his tongue is in my open-in-a-gasp mouth. My brain melts. Tiny sparks are racing through my body, setting my blood on fire. He tastes like peppermint.

Shit. Fuck.

I push him away.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're playing at?" I'm shaking. My dick is rock hard. I can't decide whether or not to be angry about it.

Potter just shrugs, staring at my lips.

"We hate each other. This is the first time you've said more than a few sentences without throwing a hex at me." I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks.

He doesn't say anything. He just pushes me back against the cupboard and kisses me again. It's intoxicating. My head is spinning. I almost forget to breathe.

His hands are on my hips, holding onto me like a lead life-vest. I'm drowning and floating at the same time.

I'm not in control of my body. My dick is stretching out the fabric of my trousers and my tongue is parrying his advances. _Traitor_.

This isn't happening. This can't be happening.

When did I put my arms around his neck?

He pulls back, just for a second, and he's staring into my soul. The deep green is vividly alive. I can feel my heart pounding in my throat. I'm dizzy. If he weren't holding me up, I might fall over.

"You have pretty eyes," he laughs softly.

He traces his fingers along my belt. His hands meet in the middle and with a swift motion he unbuckles it.

I have to get out of here. This is insanity. But my brain seems to have ceased all higher functions. I can't move.

I'd call it an out of body experience if I didn't feel it so intensely. The zipper goes down. My trousers fall. I don't have time to be worried about it, because he's kissing me again. It's like a drug. There's no choice in it. I kiss back because I need it.

I have to suppress a moan. His hand is wrapped around my cock. He gives it a small squeeze. I see stars.

I'm not sure how he managed to distract me during the whole, him getting naked from the waist down thing—but that's what's happening. I know I'm staring. I could give a fuck.

Maybe majestic isn't the right word, but it's the first thing that comes to mind.

That's got to be the thickest dick I've ever seen. The length isn't altogether that intimidating, maybe six inches. But damn.

He's smiling at me, biting his lip slightly. Is he going to try and fuck me? At this point, I'm not sure if there'd be much use in saying no. I'm not even sure I don't want it.

Shit.

Fuck.

Damn it all to hell.

Is it weird to be thinking about punching him in the face right now?

Oh god.

He presses his hard and dripping dick up against mine, wraps his hand around both of us, and starts to grind.

The sensation is incredible. He's thrusting against the sweet spot, right underneath the head. I'm holding on to him for support.

The tension is building much too quickly. But he's dribbling pre-cum all over me. The raw sexuality of it has me teetering at the edge of the abyss. I start to match his movements. His ragged breathing pushes me into a sort of hysteria.

_Please don't stop._

He grunts, low and deep. It's almost too much. It feels so good it hurts.

And then there's cum on my shirt. He drenches me. The wet heat sends me involuntarily reeling over the edge.

My body goes tense, and stays that way. The orgasm tidal waves into panic quicker than I can blink.

We're still holding onto each other, breathing heavily. I'm sweating, and shaking, and I have no idea why my eyes are so wet. Are those rage or sadness tears? I feel like both things could be appropriate.

I let go and carefully step away from him. As I pull up my trousers and cast a few Cleaning Charms, I carefully arrange my face into an unreadable expression.

_Stuff it down. Stuff it down. Stuff it down._ Everything goes into its own little compartment and gets locked away. There isn't an emotion in the world that can't be repressed.

Potter is dressed again, just standing there, awkwardly.

I bite my lip to keep from saying anything stupid.

It takes almost all the self-control I have to start walking out of there, calm and measured.

"Malfoy… where are you going?"

I walk a little faster, but I don't break into a run until I'm out of the room and far down the corridor.

I don't even know what I'm running away from.

But there's this vague sense of doom. If I stop for even a moment, reality might catch up with me.

I can't afford to fall apart.

I just can't.

* * *

I will post faster with more encouragement. Next chapter there will be sexy sex :D


	3. Chapter 3

_These characters do not belong to me. But I promise they're not doing anything they didn't want already ;)_

_Fair warning: violence, contemplation of suicide, and man sex. Sorry I'm not sorry._

* * *

Maybe I'll just wither away into nothing.

Pansy tried to drag me to breakfast this morning, but I couldn't get up.

I skipped lunch.

I skipped dinner.

I skipped all of my classes.

This isn't a meltdown. Everybody has off days. Tomorrow I have to face life again. But escape is nice to think about. If I could just disappear to some far off country and live life as a hermit—maybe I'd avoid the war. _Draft dodger._ I could be a stranger. Nobody would know me, or my family, or all the terrible things we've done collectively.

Then there's reality—nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. I doubt there's a place on earth the Dark Lord couldn't find me.

I'm not entirely fucked. The Vanishing Cabinet worked. Even if it was just once, I know it's possible.

Still, I wonder if there's even a point in surviving. If I somehow manage to pull this off and kill Dumbledore, then I'm still trapped. Forever doing the Dark Lord's bidding—one mistake and I'm gone. Or he might just kill me on a whim. I've seen it before.

If I don't kill Dumbledore, I'm doubly dead. My entire family is dead.

I'm not doing any of this for me.

I stare at the green silk of my pillow, and I think about jumping. Maybe I could be the sacrifice. Maybe the Dark Lord would have mercy on my parents.

There's a knock at the door.

"Draco?"

The heavy oak swings open slowly. Blaise is standing there, looking down at me.

"You look like shit. What happened?" There are traces of suppressed laughter in his smile.

"I'm hung over," I lie.

_I hate it when he looks at me like I'm a piece of meat._

I'm sprawled out across my bed, covered by a thin sheet. My hair is messy. I'm sure there are dark circles under my eyes. I've gotten pale. I've lost weight. I didn't bother to cast any of the Glamours I usually throw on before going out in public.

"Snape wants to see you in his office."

"Tell him I'm sick." I roll over so I don't have to look at him anymore.

"He said it was urgent. I think you'd better go."

I sigh. I'm so tired.

I sit up and run my fingers through my hair. Blaise is still watching me.

"I could stay here," he licks his lips, "if you want to hang out afterwards or something."

"I don't think that'd be a good idea. Pansy might drop by. She knows I'm cheating on her. At this point, she's just trying to figure out who it is I'm fucking."

I flick my wand. My clothes come sailing out of the dresser and land on the bed. He's still in the doorway.

"Well? Get out of here." The cold from my voice seeps out into my room.

Blaise opens his mouth like he's going to say something, but then changes his mind. He slowly backs into the hallway and closes the door behind him.

I dress quickly, and cast a few charms to make myself look presentable. It seems like a very long walk to Snape's office. Every step is one more than I want to take. But I'm already at the half-open door. Snape is sitting at his desk, scribbling away.

I walk in and take a set in the stiff-backed wooden chair directly across from him.

"You weren't in class today." He doesn't look up from his writing. "Now is not the time to make mistakes, Draco."

"I was sick."

"Then you should have been in the hospital wing."

"I know you didn't drag me in here to discuss the importance of academics. Who knows how much longer I'll even be in school?" I snap.

His eyes bore into me. I can feel him, tugging at the seams trying to get through the walls into my mind. I focus on emptiness.

"The Dark Lord is less than pleased with our progress." His eyes drop back down to his desk. "I'm afraid I've done all I can to help you avoid this."

The Mark starts to burn.

Snape is refusing eye contact.

We both know what's coming.

"Go quickly. I'm sure it won't take long." There is no emotion in his voice. He gestures towards his fireplace.

I take a small handful of silver powder out of the jar on the mantle.

"Malfoy Manor." My voice is shaking.

I throw the powder in, and take a deep breath. The metallic taste of fear creeps up my throat. The green flames spring up.

Into the darkness.

* * *

I tumble out of the fireplace.

Aunt Bellatrix is standing there, waiting for me.

"Hello, Draco," her smile is pure corrosive acid, "our Master is waiting for you in the parlor."

I stand carefully. _Keep your head high_.

This used to be my home. I still know all the rooms, but it feels oddly foreign. The high ceilings used to be beautiful. Now, they just make everything seem empty. One foot in front of the other, I follow Bellatrix into the parlor.

I feel him before I see him. The cold comes over me.

"Ah, so young Draco's decided to join us…"

He's standing by the window, looking out at the gardens. The chalky skin on his bald head makes my stomach flip-flop. I hate looking at him. He turns slowly, red eyes glowing, slit-nostrils flared.

"We've all missed the youngest member of the illustrious Malfoy bloodline, haven't we?" His voice is quiet, almost calm.

I'm so fucked.

I hear a small sob. I shift my eyes without moving my head. Mother is sitting in the corner. She looks worse than I do.

"So now that you're here, why don't you tell us a story? Entertain us. Explain exactly what you've been doing all these months? Where has that valuable time gone?" He approaches me at a measured pace. Then, he's staring down into my soul, only inches away from me.

I open my mouth, but the words don't come out.

_Pull yourself together._

"My Lord," I clear my throat, "I've been working on repairing a Vanishing Cabinet. It connects to the piece in Borgin and Burkes. The cabinet is in the castle. We could get people in without any trouble—"

"I see. So this cabinet works? It's fully functional?"

"Well… almost."

"It either is, or it isn't, Draco. There's not much in between."

"I got it to work last night. I know it's possible."

I can feel the panic rising in my chest. Maybe it shows slightly on my face, because he's smiling that cold lipless grin.

He's reaching for his wand.

"Please!" my mother cries out. "He just needs a little more time!"

"Oh, he'll have plenty of time, Narcissa. What he really needs is motivation."

I brace myself—though being ready almost never helps.

_"Crucio."_

Someone is screaming.

My skin is being ripped from my bones and dragged across a field of searing-hot needles.

I can feel my body convulsing. I'm probably crying.

Then, I'm on the ground, sprawled across the polished stone, dazed. He's standing over me.

"You know this is for your own good. You deserve this." He's toying with his wand.

There's really no choice but to agree, so I manage a small nod.

"Sometimes you're entirely too much like your father, Draco. It saddens me."

The pain surges through me again.

My blood is boiling. My organs must be exploding.

I'm being torn to shreds by poisonous claws. Dismembered into a thousand tiny pieces of fire.

My face is wet with tears and shame.

"Don't disappoint me again." The words are faint, almost background noise. "Next time, it will be much worse for you."

* * *

Inhale.

Exhale.

My breath comes out in tiny puffs of steam.

It's cold on top of the Astronomy Tower. I can almost see the wind in the ripples on the inky black lake and the shivering treetops of the forest. The moon shines, high in the sky.

I'm standing here, looking over the edge. The ground seems to get a little farther away every second I stare at it. The long drop, the last fall, the big hoorah.

I inch closer. There's an odd feeling in my stomach, like it's twisted itself into a knot.

_You'll never do it, pussy._

I stick one foot out over the edge, stepping into thin air. It wouldn't take much. Human beings are such fragile creatures. Just one more step, and I'd get to find out if hell really exists.

A particularly strong gust of wind suddenly blows across the tower. Maybe it's the surprise. I'm teetering. I almost lose my balance.

But someone clutches the back of my robes and pulls me back. I'm in a heap on the floor of the tower—staring into green eyes.

"Potter? What the fuck! Why are you here?" I'm sputtering. God, I can't even think.

"I could ask you the same question." He's sweating.

"I… I just came up for a bit of fresh air."

"You were going to jump."

"No, I wasn't. I didn't think idiocy was catching, but maybe you've been spending a bit too much time around Longbottom." Mask on. I'm ice. I stand up quickly, brushing myself off.

"You nearly fell. You almost died." He lurches to his feet.

"So what? Why the fuck do you care?"

He grabs my shoulders and turns me towards him. He's assaulting my mouth with his tongue. I almost melt away into nothing.

_This is so wrong._

I pull back. He's still hanging onto me like he's afraid I'll disappear.

"You do realize you just saved a Death Eater, right?" I look at the ground.

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Why?"

"I…"

"You don't know, do you? Typical Gryffindor. You always have to be the fucking hero. You should have just let me fall."

I try to step away, but he holds on. He wraps his arms around me and hugs tight.

It's relentless.

"Potter, this is ridiculous."

"So?"

"You need to let go of me."

"No."

"I hate you."

"Really? Then why are you hard right now?"

I was hoping he wouldn't feel that.

"I'm thinking about hurting you." I try my best to scoff.

"Yeah?" His tone changes slightly. His voice goes a bit lower. "What exactly do you want to do to me?"

"I'd put a gag on you so you'd shut the fuck up."

"Then what?"

"I'm not playing this game. Let me go."

I pull away again. This time he releases me, but he's still very close. He's breathing heavily. His cheeks are flushed. This is not good.

He reaches up and cups my chin in his hand. He brushes his thumb across my lips. I shiver. It's just not fair.

Why am I even bothering to put up a fight?

Oh yeah, dignity. That thing I used to have.

"You know it would be good." He's dragging me in again. He doesn't even have to move. I'm just trapped in his eyes.

"That's irrelevant, Potter. We can't do this because you're you, and I'm me. What's happened already is probably enough to destroy society. We don't need to make it worse."

"Who's going to find out about it?"

_Eventually everyone. Secrets this big always find a way to the surface_.

But he's already running his hands up underneath my robes. My cloak drops to the floor. He steps towards me.

How the fuck did he know?

He's biting my neck hard enough to leave bruises, and I can't hold it together.

I let out a small moan.

"You want it so bad." He's laughing into my skin.

"Stop talking."

"Make me."

I catch his mouth in a savage kiss. It's war.

He grabs my ass. I grab a chunk of his hair and pull. He growls. The next thing I know, we're rolling around on the floor. Maybe it looks like we're actually fighting, except pieces of clothing keep getting subtracted from the situation.

He tears my shirt off. The buttons go flying everywhere. I throw his belt across the tower. He kicks off his shoes and quickly maneuvers out of his trousers.

Wherever we're going, we're getting there fast.

He does everything short of grabbing his wand and Vanishing the rest of my clothes. I can hear them ripping. I could give a fuck. I just need him to be touching me.

I'm completely lost. And then I'm naked, with Harry Potter lying on top of me. The magnitude of the situation is inescapable. It's like I've never done this before. If I weren't already horizontal, I'd probably be weak at the knees.

He's panting. I can feel his heartbeat.

There a few suspended seconds when we're just staring at each other. The whole world slows down.

Then, he's muttering something so faintly I can't make it out. Something cold and slippery is pressing against my asshole. I grunt. Two of his fingers pop inside me. He's scissoring them, trying to loosen my up. I want to relax, but I'm so on-edge it's nearly impossible.

That is, until he hits the sweet spot.

I hiss, and buck against his fingers. _So good_.

"Do you want my dick, Malfoy?" He's smiling.

I can't even talk. I just let out this vague sort of whine, hoping he'll take the hint.

"I want you to beg for it." He gently nibbles on my neck for a moment, before biting down harder again.

"Never in million years." Even I can hear the strain in my voice.

"Come on, beg." He adds another finger. He's hitting my prostate relentlessly.

"Uhhg."

"Say please."

_Please fuck me. I want it more than anything._

"Just do it, Potter."

"Fine." He shoves his dick all the way in.

It burns deep. I'm a shell around that little center of intensity. It's too much. I've never had anything this thick in me before.

But he stays still, watching me. Waiting. My muscles start to relax slightly. I give him a curt little nod. He moves very slowly, barely thrusting. I get a tiny jolt of pleasure when he hits my prostate again.

He starts to pick up speed. The pain wilts. I feel incredibly full. I wrap my legs around him, and shift, trying to change the angel.

Suddenly, every thrust is hitting that magic place. He's really hammering me. I feel his balls slapping against my ass.

Maybe he's going to break me.

I'm determined to leave a few marks of my own. I dig my nails into the flesh on his back. I want the scratches to be there for days. I want him to feel them and remember exactly how he got them.

He pulls out so only the very tip is still inside me. Then, he slams back in. I barely contain the moan by biting down on my lip. He's playing dirty, but so can I.

"Come on, Potter. Is that all you got?" I almost can't get the words out.

But it seems to get to him all the same. He starts pounding me so hard I'm sure I won't be able to walk right for days.

He sinks his teeth into my shoulder. My head is spinning. I can't handle this. I'm tightrope walking over a lava-lake of pleasure and pain. The combination is addictive. I close my eyes just to avoid looking at him.

Maybe I'm losing my mind. I don't know how else something this depraved could feel so right. It's like he fits perfectly.

I feel the tension starting to build, boiling deep inside me.

I try to reach down for my dick. So close. But he grabs my wrists and pins them above my head.

I squirm slightly.

"Nope. You don't get to touch that," he grunts into my ear, "I'm going to fuck the cum out of you."

The heat blazes through me, devouring me. I'm staring at him, trying desperately to hate him. This is twisted.

Oh.

My.

God.

He kisses me.

I'm over the edge.

This is the point of no return.

The French used to call it the Little Death.

I let out a strangled cry. I can feel my muscles spasm around him. I'm exploding. He's grunting, still slamming into me.

Then, I feel the warmth inside me. He goes completely still for a few seconds before collapsing on top of me.

I'm trapped under the dead weight. It's a strange sort of anxiety. I never like to stick around after these types of things. Not with Blaise, not with anybody. And this…

"Potter, get the fuck off me," I snarl.

"In a minute."

"No, now. Are you planning to hold me hostage or something?"

"What's the big hurry?" He's nibbling the now-tender skin on my neck.

"I don't need to explain myself to you. Get off."

He sighs and rolls onto the floor. I Summon my clothes and start to get dressed.

"This can't happen again." I avoid eye contact by lacing my shoes.

"You sure about that?" I know there's an idiotic smile on his face, even if I don't see it.

"I'll hex you the next time you try to touch me."

"I can't wait."

"I'm serious. Stop following me around or I'm going to hurt you."

_And I mean that on so many levels it's not even funny._

I stand up, straightening my robes. I probably look like a complete mess. No Cleaning Charm is going to fix the way I feel. This is ragged exhaustion.

But I make the mistake of looking at him one last time.

_He's so perfect._

Messy hair, cheeks still flushed, the moonlight hits his skin and makes it almost glow. How can he be a total wreck, and it's the sexist thing I've ever seen at the same time?

I shake my head and start down the stairs.

What a fucking night.

* * *

_Chapter four coming soon. Your reviews, favorites and follows make me happy inside :D_


	4. Chapter 4

_These characters do not belong to me. But I promise they're not doing anything they didn't want already ;)_

_Fair warning: sex, drinking and violence. You know. The good stuff._

* * *

Someone should give me a medal. Pulling the shattered pieces of my life together and showing up to Defense Against the Dark Arts is a feat of epic proportions. So many vials of Pepper-Up Potion, so many fucking charms—but I look damn good. I'm sitting in the front row, staring Snape down, ready to hex anybody that tries to interact with me.

Maybe I need to sleep more.

Maybe I need to sleep less.

I probably need some sort of healthy outlet for the years and years of suppressed rage.

As of now, it's manifesting itself in vomiting at two in the morning and a general hatred of humanity.

I wonder if it's possible to perform a Memory Modification Charm on yourself.

If I could just forget…

"Class dismissed." Snape sighs disdainfully and begins to shuffle papers.

The crowd comes to life, and people are filing out the door. I stay seated, glaring.

The Three Musketeers shuffle by. Of course I don't expect him to look at me. Whatever happened last night must have been some sort of bizarre hallucination. After all, I haven't been doing too much of the whole eating thing. I've been living on two or three hours of blissful unconsciousness a night.

It had to be a dream.

There are probably plenty of other reasonable explanations why I woke up with dark purple bite marks all over my neck. The Glamours I had to cast to cover them.

_Who the fuck am I kidding?_

He's just the bright little light that everybody crowds around. He's standing in front of me for a few seconds. Then, he's out the door with all the other good people.

I'm still here, hanging onto reality by an ever-fraying thread, entrenched in the darkest parts of human existence. That's just how things are supposed to be.

"Draco, you are free to go." Snape looks at me for a split second before standing up and starting to gather his things.

"You really have nothing else to say to me?" I half raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the venom from seeping into my voice.

"There's nothing to discuss."

I hate him so much.

If he weren't so greasy, I'd be tempted to punch him in the face.

But a Malfoy is nothing, if not civilized. So, I hoist my bag onto my shoulder and slowly walk out of the room.

Blaise is waiting for me, just outside the door. He matches my pace. Even though I'm refusing eye contact, I can feel him staring at me.

"You free tonight?" His voice is soft, silky smooth. It sounds so beautiful, but so far away.

"No."

"What about right now?"

He places a hand on my shoulder and gently turns me towards a nearby classroom. The door closes and we're alone.

The quiet seems all encompassing. It's the dust on the wooden desks, the pale light streaming in through the window. Those huge, dark eyes, just staring at me—I remember how this used to be.

It was exciting. Thrilling. Something new, and entirely forbidden.

He was my big secret to smile about when nobody was looking.

Sure, it's been on and off. Sometimes I go weeks without talking to him. But he's always been there, just around the corner, demanding sex at the most impractical times imaginable.

I've never hated him. But really, I've never had any sort of strong emotions towards him other than the stress he can occasionally cause me.

Empty attraction and infrequent meetings—it's all we've ever really amounted to.

It's a bit depressing when I actually think about it.

* * *

Everybody remembers their first kiss.

Mine was second year, on Halloween.

Crabbe dared me to kiss a first year—Flora Carrow. I'm not sure if it really counted. There was no tongue. But she smiled every time she saw me for weeks afterward.

There were others. Daphne Greengrass taught me the fine art of sucking face. The longer I was on the Quidditch team, the more girls threw themselves at me. But I never went very far past kissing.

Perhaps, somewhere deep down, I knew why.

It was one of those cold November nights—fourth year. A large group of us all were out at the Three Broomsticks, drinking Butterbeers, laughing the evening away. I was sitting near the center of a long table, with Blaise on my right, and Crabbe on my left.

Everyone was tipsy, and giggling, and being more than a bit too friendly with each other. It was back when Pansy was still on the chase. She kept loudly announcing how she had an alcohol tolerance like a house-elf, and would probably need someone to levitate her back to the castle. Then, she'd look at me and flash that pretty smile of hers.

Blaise was the only one not participating in the conversation, or making a fool of himself. He calmly finished his drinks without ever cracking a smile.

Gradually, people started getting up and leaving—mentioning homework or an early class. I'd already decided to skip Charms, so I kept drinking. By the time I'd gotten through another two Butterbeers, almost everyone was gone. It was just me, Blaise, Pansy, and Millicent.

Millicent was already standing, tugging on Pansy's arm,

"Come on, we have to go," she rumbled in that freakishly deep voice of hers.

"Don't you have class in the morning, Draco?" Pansy bit her lip hopefully. "You could walk us back to the castle."

"Fuck Charms. I'm taking a personal day tomorrow." I smirked.

"You're really going to let two vulnerable girls walk alone in the dark?"

"Don't worry, Pansy. I'm sure Millicent is better protection than Draco anyway." Blaise kept a total deadpan. I kicked him under the table.

Still, after a little more coercing, Pansy and Millicent left. Blaise and I stayed for another half an hour or so, until Rosmerta kicked us out.

We stumbled out into the cold, hugging our cloaks in tighter around our bodies. Before I could even think about which direction to walk, Blaise grabbed my arm and pulled me into the alleyway.

He produced a shiny metal flask from one of his pockets, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig. Then, he was handing it to me.

"What is it?"

"Firewhisky," he said, grinning.

I took a small sip and shuddered as the raw heat slipped down my throat. I'd never liked the taste of the stuff. But it did bring a pleasant warm feeling through my whole body. Even though the bitter wind was blowing, I didn't mind it so much.

We traded shots in silence and eventually meandered back into the street.

The village was beautiful. The sky was perfectly clear, with a waxing moon. Light splintered down through the treetops, creating jagged shadows at the edges of town. The snow on the ground sparkled like tiny carbon diamonds.

Blaise stopped walking about halfway up the path out of the village and fished around in his pockets again. He pulled out a silver cigarette case. After selecting one, he placed it between his lips and sparked it with his wand.

"Huh. Didn't know you smoked." I pulled my scarf in tighter around my neck, trying to ignore how numb my cheeks felt.

The walk continued. The alcohol was swirling in my head, making the world seem blurry around the edges. My feet didn't want to go in a straight line.

"So, what do you think of Pansy?" He gently flicked the filter of his cigarette with his thumb, tapping off the collecting ash.

"I dunno. She's all right, I suppose. Why?"

"It's pretty obvious she wants your dick." He shrugged.

I snorted, trying to suppress a laugh.

"What? You don't think she's hot?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Of course she is. Just… I don't want her getting weird about it. I mean, you know her. If we hooked up, she'd never leave me alone."

I had to refrain from rolling my eyes. How many times had I used _that_ excuse?

"Yeah, I guess. What if we tag team her?"

"That's a terrible idea, Blaise."

"Probably."

Blaise stopped to light another cigarette. He was swaying slightly. Even in a drunken stupor, he still managed to look mildly dignified.

"You know, Draco, I've always wondered—how much time on average do you spend making your hair look like that?" The smug little smile started to creep across his face.

"Shove it." I folded my arms and gave him my best sneer. But that just made him smile wider.

"No, really, I'm serious. It must be a pain in the ass to make it look _that_ fucking perfect."

"Actually, your mum does it for me every morning before she Floos back to your house."

"It's a good thing you're cute. Otherwise people probably wouldn't tolerate that god-awful personality of yours." He blew out a wide smoke ring.

I stood there, blinking stupidly, entirely off-balanced.

_Take evasive action._

"Cute? Do you fancy me, or something? Merlin, Zabini. Nobody ever told me you were gay." I was trying to laugh, make it all into a joke.

But he just stood there, watching me.

The longer the silence became, the more disturbing it was.

"Are you, really?" I had this strange floating feeling in my stomach—something like anxiety. My heart was beating faster.

"No. I like girls. But I also like blokes." He shrugged as if it were the most matter-of-fact thing in the world.

"What?"

"I dunno. I've just never seen much of a reason to choose one or the other."

I couldn't quite figure out if it was my mouth or my brain that was malfunctioning. Either way, I couldn't seem to get a sentence out. I just stared at him dumbly, almost unable to comprehend the developing situation.

"I've never had sex with another guy, or anything. But I've fooled around. You won't tell anyone…" For a moment he looked slightly nervous.

But I shook my head.

Who would believe me?

"It's really not that much different, in all honesty," he was smiling again, "a kiss is a kiss. And hell, a blowjob's fantastic no matter who it's coming from as long as they have a vague idea about what they're doing."

"You've gotten head from a guy?" I couldn't resist. It was like the question just jumped out of me.

"You know Cormac McLaggen?"

"The Gryffindor?"

"Yep."

"I don't believe you."

"Jealous?"

"Why the fuck would I be jealous?

"Don't lie. You want to know what it's like."

In retrospect, I think my mistake was not responding immediately.

Almost in slow motion, he let his cigarette drop to the ground. The ember extinguished in the blanket of snow. Then, he was stepping towards me, pulling me in by the front of my robes.

His lips were soft.

He tasted like smoke and alcohol.

His tongue was wide, and deep into my mouth before I really registered what was happening.

Maybe I didn't push him away because I was drunk. Maybe I'd always thought he was handsome.

It was one of those things you know you'll regret, even while it's happening. My dim awareness of the consequences, however, didn't stop me from leaping into the abyss.

The heat spread through my body, sparking something I hadn't felt before. I kissed him back. My head spun. It felt like time had stopped and there was nothing else in the world besides his arms wrapped around me.

Finally, we broke apart and walked back to the castle in silence. When we finally got to the dormitories, everyone else was asleep. I stripped to my boxers and lay down in bed. I felt Blaise climb in next to me, drawing the curtain around us and muttering a few spells.

I rolled over to face him. He captured me in another kiss.

I was capsizing in the waves of my own hormones—so nervous I could barely breathe. He was already naked, moving his large hands over every inch of my body.

I shuddered when his fingertips brushed over my growing erection. He smiled, and snapped the elastic waistband of the shorts against my stomach.

"I'm not gonna force you into anything you don't want to do…" He gently traced his fingers across the skin on my chest. It tickled slightly, but was also strangely arousing.

I looked at him helplessly.

Telling him I wanted something made me guilty.

Kicking him out of bed wasn't really an option at that point.

I bit my lip.

He grabbed my dick though the thin material of my boxers. Ever so slowly, he began to stroke it, squeezing gently.

Everything in the world slowed down and there was only him. Shallow breathing, erratic heart rate—this was the threshold. Once I crossed it, I knew there was no going back.

In a quick motion, he pulled down my shorts. My eyes rolled back into my head as my dick was engulfed in the moist heat of his mouth.

It was ecstasy.

I wished it could last forever.

Of course, it didn't.

He swirled his wide tongue around the head of my cock, and I was already starting to lose it. He took me in all the way, sucking hard.

After an embarrassingly short amount of time, I was groaning, the tension was boiling deep inside me. I didn't even have time to warn him before I was spilling cum into his mouth.

I watched him swallow it, with a tiny trickle running from the corner of his mouth, down his chin. It was the hottest thing I'd ever seen.

Then, he was kissing me again, and I could taste myself. It was nasty, and wrong, but somehow vaguely erotic.

"Do you think you could handle this?" He smiled slightly, grabbing a hold of his own dick and stoking it.

The thing was intimidating. But he didn't even wait for me to answer. He was straddling my chest, dangling it in front of my mouth. He traced it across my cheek, leaving a slimy little slug-trail.

Slowly, I opened my mouth and looked up at him. I stuck my tongue out and licked the tip of his cock. It didn't taste bad, though I definitely got a little of the musky liquid that was beginning to pool in his slit. I repeated this exercise a few more times, and was rewarded with a contented sigh.

Getting the whole thing into my mouth was definitely more of challenge than I cared to take on. I started with just the head, and managed to get about halfway down the shaft before I felt myself verge on choking. I bobbed awkwardly, trying to establish some sort of rhythm.

After a while, I felt him gently thrusting with my motions. I tried to relax my throat. He went deeper. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but at that point I wasn't controlling it anymore.

"Draco," he grunted, "you feel so good."

He hit the back of my throat, and I gagged a little bit. It was an odd sort of claustrophobia. My mouth was so full it was hard to breathe.

But he wasn't really paying attention. All I saw was his flat stomach, undulating, all the little muscles flexing. I was there. I was anywhere else.

Then, he let out a loud groan, and I was drowning. I swallowed because I had no choice. It was an obscure, salty taste. Almost musty. Not terrible, but not great.

We fell asleep spooning.

When I woke up in the morning and he was gone, I panicked. All sorts of questions I didn't want to think about flooded into my brain. I did the only logical thing I could think of—ask Pansy to the Yule Ball.

So, the terrible cycle was born. I didn't talk to Blaise for a month and I was pretending to fall in love with Pansy Parkinson. I put on a grand show for everybody. I did it so well I almost believed it.

Then, I ended up naked in a bathroom cubicle with Blaise. It was awful, and dirty, and horrifyingly sexy. It's my twisted little journey that's sure to end in some sort of split personality. There are so many lies, I've told to so many different people, I can't keep it all straight.

* * *

Standing in this dark classroom, just inches away from him, I know that none of it has meant much to either of us. For a while, I thought maybe I loved him. But how can you really love somebody with no personality? I know less about him than I know about my excommunicated family members.

He's reaching out for me, wrapping his arms around me. I let him, but I turn my head away from his kiss.

Usually, there's a distinct difference between using someone for sex, and being used. But maybe there's a point when you become so numb it doesn't matter.

He's undressing me. I'm a rag doll, draped across a desk. I'm still sore. I roll over onto my stomach so I don't have to look at him.

"What the fuck?" He gasps.

I look over my shoulder.

My back is covered in bruises. Sex on stone floors… it happens.

I sit up carefully and give him the emptiest expression I can construct. With a wave of my wand, the Glamours disappear. All the hickeys, bite marks, and tiny cuts are in clear view. _Self-hatred._

I raise an eyebrow and wait for him to say something.

"I don't suppose Pansy did that…" He's staring at the inescapably huge bite mark on my shoulder. It almost looks like some sort of wild animal went at me.

"No."

"Who, then?"

"Whoever I want. It's not like we're exclusive or something," I snarl coldly. I can feel a vague sort of rage boiling just below the surface.

"Oh, of course not, but I mean… looks like you've been up to something interesting."

"You could say that." I've maintained my composure through more aggravating things, but still…

"Perhaps several somethings, from the looks of it."

"Could be." Do I really want to kill Blaise, or is the feeling unrelated?

"So, are you whoring around Hogwarts with random people, or what?" He has the nerve to smile at me.

"Yes, Blaise. I fucked the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team. Is that what you'd like to hear?" My knuckles are white from clenched fists.

"Well, in all honesty, _slut_ isn't a very good look for you. Bruises on pale skin aren't that attractive."

And that's all I need.

Calmly, I pick up my discarded trousers, and stand up. I slowly slip the belt out of the loops. He watches me, but I say nothing. I pick up my wand and barely mutter the spell. Then my belt is looped around his neck.

Before he can even struggle, it pulls tight and forces him down to his knees.

He's gagging, and I just watch.

"You should really learn when to keep your mouth shut."

When I loosen the belt slightly, he's gasping.

"Draco, what the—"

"Would you like to faint?"

He goes quiet. His eyes are narrowed, his jaw clenched, but I can still see the tiny trace of fear. There's a part of me that loves this. The control is intoxicating.

"I think you're forgetting who calls the shots here, Blaise," I say softly. "This only happens because I let it happen. I'm not your fuck toy. I'm a dangerous criminal. If you piss me off, I am capable of making your life extremely unpleasant. Understand?"

He nods.

The belt drops to the floor and I start getting dressed.

Maybe, at one point, he had me infatuated and tortured. Maybe, at the beginning, I was vulnerable. But that was a long time ago.

Just look at me now—ever closer to being a bona fide sociopath.

I give him one last look of disgust before I shut the door behind me.

My stomach is twisting again.

I take a slow, measured walk towards the nearest bathroom before I puke my guts out.

_Drown me in the pain._

* * *

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